When evenen sheaedes o' trees do hide
A body by the hedge's zide,
An' twitt'ren birds, wi' playsome flight,
Do vlee to roost at comen night,
Then I do saunter out o' zight
In orcha'd, where the pleaece woonce rung
Wi' laughs a-laugh'd an' zongs a-zung
By vaices that be gone.
There's still the tree that bore our swing,
An' others where the birds did zing;
But long-leav'd docks do overgrow
The groun' we trampled heaere below,
Wi' merry skippens to an' fro
Bezide the banks, where Jim did zit
A-playen o' the clarinit
To vaices that be gone.
How mother, when we us'd to stun
Her head wi' all our naisy fun,
Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome:
An' now that zome be dead, an' zome
A-gone, an' all the pleaece is dum',
How she do wish, wi' useless tears,
To have ageaen about her ears
The vaices that be gone.
Vor all the maidens an' the bwoys
But I, be marri'd off all woys,
Or dead an' gone; but I do bide
At hwome, alwone, at mother's zide,
An' often, at the evenen-tide,
I still do saunter out, wi' tears,
Down drough the orcha'd, where my ears
Do miss the vaices gone.